Silence
by worrywart
Summary: A tribute to Alan Rickman, his wife, Rima, and their family. Hermione begins to come to terms with her grief after the death of her beloved, Severus. AU.


**We have all been affected by the death of the wonderful Alan Rickman. A brilliant actor, a magnificent voice…gone much too soon. One of the ladies on my SSHG Facebook page said, rightly, that while we are saddened over Mr. Rickman's passing, we should think of Rima and his family and silently offer them our support in their grief. To that end, I offer this tribute to them and Mr. Rickman.**

 **I do not own the world created by JK Rowling.**

 **This has not been beta'd.**

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Silence.

Complete and utter silence.

Hermione felt she would die from it. Where once there had been the constant hum of his breathing, the soft tread of his foot across the floor, the susurration of his knife against the chopping block, now there was…nothing.

Death had come and snatched it all away, and now she could not hear.

There _were_ noises…muffled, quiet noises. The sort of noise people make when they are afraid to speak for fear of disturbing the aftermath of death.

Hermione hated it. It was not natural that her home be so quiet. She wanted to hear her children laughing. She wanted to hear the deep baritone rumble of her husband, answering back with more laughter.

She walked into their bedroom and stared at the bed. How could she ever sleep in it again? It wasn't that she was afraid to sleep in the place where he had died, for he had had a peaceful death—even if it was too soon. She just didn't think she could sleep alone in that overwhelming stillness that deafened her.

As she moved through the room to the loo, she spotted something in a corner. A black sock. Severus was forever missing the laundry basket when he tossed his socks after slipping them off at night. Usually one went in and the other fell behind it. Hermione must have groused at him daily to lean over and pick it up!

Walking over, she picked it up, turned it right side out and smiled; Severus never turned his socks either. And with that thought, Hermione could hear that the silence had broken, but didn't realise it was her own voice that had broken it. All the mourning she had kept inside over the last few days finally burst forth from her in a wail of grief so loud, she didn't hear the footsteps running toward her room.

She didn't feel strong arms encompass her and draw her close. She didn't feel herself being lifted and carried to her bed. She didn't feel her shoes being pulled off or the pillow being tucked under her head. She didn't feel the duvet pulled over the body. She didn't feel the bed dip as the weight of a body settled beside her to soothe her.

She did not feel, but she heard, and all she heard was noise.

After many minutes, the wailing stopped, and she began to feel. She began to feel the pain of grief, and she felt as though her heart would crawl out of her chest, it hurt so badly.

She pulled the pillow next to hers toward and pressed her face into it. His smell invaded her senses, and fresh tears spilled from her eyes. Even in the agony of her pain, she had a lucid moment and pushed the pillow away lest the tears wash away the scent. She must remember to place a charm on the pillow to preserve it forever.

Hours later, she woke, her eyes opening slowly as the tears had dried on them and grit had formed. She lifted her hand to wipe them clear when she noticed she still had Severus sock in her hand. She tucked it into his pillow to keep, even though it was dirty.

She turned to lie on her back and noticed the house was quiet, but that she could finally hear. Memories began to sweep over her. Happy memories. Sad memories. Memories of fights and accusations that hurt and nearly destroyed all they had had together. But the stubborn Slytherin and the brave Gryffindor won out in the end and they moved forward.

Hermione knew everything was not 'all better'. She knew she would have days and days ahead of her where the silence would once again overwhelm her. She knew there would be days where she'd be sitting on the couch, reading an article from a magazine and say, 'Love, listen to this dunderheaded theory', and there would be no Love to listen, and her grief would wash her away again.

She sighed heavily.

Silence.

She imagined she would become accustomed to it. Many other spouses had done, surely, but it didn't make it any less easy for her to deal with it. A slew of trite expressions popped into her head; just take it a day at a time; it'll get easier, I promise; he'll always be with you. Well being with and _being with_ were two completely different things. With a small snort, she pushed the duvet off and slid out of bed.

Walking to the loo and taking care of her needs, she washed her face and hands. As she dried them, she took a long look at herself in the mirror above the basin.

Wrinkles around her eyes, laugh lines around her mouth. Both had been put there by him. Because of him and the life he had given her that meant happiness and love. She took a step back so that she could see the rest of herself in the mirror. Her belly was rounded, made so by the children he put there. Her breasts, which he simply adored, weren't quite a perky as they once had been. Her hips were wider and more lush. He never made love to her without extolling how much he loved her body, curves and all.

A smile, tremulous though it was, grew on her face. Her husband was taken from her much too soon, but he was within her. She could feel her heart and soul swell within her. There were rough days ahead, she was certain of that. But knowing how much he loved her would help.

"I love you, Severus, with everything in me, I do. And, I know you loved me, too."

As she left the loo, flicking off the light as she went, she didn't notice the mirror fog slightly and a message form.

 _Always._


End file.
